Somehow while I was outside putting the kids into Ryan's car for school yesterday I stepped on a piece of glass the size of a toast crumb that managed to create a two millimeter hole in the bottom of my foot that immediately started bleeding profusely.
Since almost the same thing had happened to me in New York this summer, I knew that the only thing to do was to get a needle and dig that little jerk out of my foot. So I found a package of sewing machine needles from the eighties that I had come across while moving some furniture the other day, pulled one out, got an ice pack to numb the area, and set to work, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the kitchen floor.
I located the culprit fairly quickly (and painfully), a tiny shard of brown glass that I suspected originated from an art installation Charley created several weeks ago in which he wrote "Stop underage drinking" on the driveway in sidewalk chalk and then accidentally (?) smashed a beer bottle on it so that it was covered in shards of glass. He said he wanted to put the beer bottle next to the message, but that he had accidentally dropped it. At any rate, the exhibit added a certain je ne sais quoi to the curb appeal of our house until I swept up the glass and let the sprinkler take care of the chalk.
So, I had located the piece of glass but was not able to coax it out of my foot using just the needle or my fingernails, so I carefully tip toed up the stairs and into my bathroom, where I had a pair of tweezers. Several minutes later, I had arranged a halogen desk lamp to shine on the affected area and was ready for action. Only when I started looking around again the glass was GONE. I (painfully) squeezed and poked the area with both the needle and the tweezers, but could see no sign of it. Satisfied that it had either A) fallen out of my foot as I walked up the stairs or B) migrated further inside my foot, outside of my reach with the tweezers, I iced the area and dressed the wound with neosporin and a Star Wars bandaid.
Then I treated myself to a breakfast taco (Walking VERY gingerly slash dragging my stupid sore foot behind me like Quasimodo) and settled in to work on a proposal that was due yesterday at five o'clock. I complained about my stupid morning to my friend C. She immediately consulted her podiatrist husband who enjoined me to STOP WALKING ON IT AND SEE A DOCTOR FTLOG.
I calmly replied that I didn't have time to see a doctor because I was working, but that I planned to go the following morning. But they were insistent, so I made an appointment with one of the urgent-care doctors at our regular clinic, noting the irony that I could EITHER, SIT and work and NOT WALK, or WALK to my car, WALK into the clinic. But since I knew I'd be worried about it all day and Ryan would have choir that night, which meant I couldn't go to after-hours with no kids, it seemed the right thing to do.
After the usual vital sign checks the doctor appeared bearing an instrument of torture, seven inch long pointed metal salad tongs carefully sanitized and wrapped in plastic. He told me it would hurt the same as the numbing shot, so they were just gonna skip that and dive right in (paraphrasing), then he asked me to lie on the table and then spent the next several minutes digging around in (and I can only assume ENLARGING) the hole with the pointy death tongs.
I helped by using the muscles in my face to resist screaming and kicking the tongs right out of his hand. The digging stabbing feeling stopped and I opened my eyes. The bottom half-inch of the death tongs were COVERED IN MY BLOOD. The doctor said "I don't see anything in there yet. Let me TAKE ANOTHER LOOK [emphasis mine]."
The digging continued for what felt like several more hours before he stood up, took off his gloves, and said "Whelp, didn't see the glass. Usually your body will take care of it. If it's not getting better you can go to a podiatrist. Give us a call if you notice and redness, swelling, or puss."
WILL DO, DOC!!
And then he gave me some neosporin and a new bandaid. A normal, not-Star Wars one.
And I hippity hopped back to my car to resume my day of grocery shopping, school gardening, proposal finishing (Which I did together with Charley and Wes at the coffee shop. They did homework while I worked and when they got restless I gave them cash and they bought cookies. It was actually very cozy.), kid-picking up, dinner making, and finally lying on the couch with an ice pack like LEAVE ME ALONE ALL OF YOUS, MAH FOOT HURTS.
Because ow, ow, ow, OOOWWWWW.
The kids helped me by being so out of control after bedtime that I had to hobble up the stairs approximately every fifteen minutes while Ryan was at choir. SO RESTFUL.
This morning I am forcing myself to walk as normally as possible (since I have a lot of ground to cover on campus) but it still huuuuurts and is really stupid. Can't imagine it will be a problem this weekend when we are HIKING IN THE MOUNTAINS. Lesson learned: Either wear shoes outside or don't help Ryan get the kids in the car.